
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.L_:___ Copyright No. 

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Olive was sitting at one side of the fireplace, and her guardian at the other. 




LITTLE OLIVE THE 
HEIRESS 



A. G. PLYMPTON 

» % 

AUTHOR OF 


“DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY,” u BETTY, A BUTTERFLY ” ETC. 


TllustratctJ bij tljc 


BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 



43833 

Copyright , 1894, 1899, 

By A. G. Plympton. 


two copies received. 



f EOOND COPY, **tmu**m: 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U. S.A. 


k 4-^“% Is 

©e3t . 


LITTLE OLIVE, THE HEIRESS. 


PART I. 

P EOPLE said that Olive was a very 
plain child, and they usually added 
that she looked like a little owl. She cer- 
tainly had enormous gray eyes, and a habit 
of looking at you with a supernaturally 
grave expression for a long time without 
winking. 

These critics would, perhaps, have been 
surprised to know that often this solemn- 
looking little person was wondering if by 
any chance they would be able to tell her 
how she could find out the way to have 
good times. 

It is not at all surprising that Olive had 
not been able to find this out for herself, 
for she had lived nearly all her life with her 
great aunt, whose sole idea of enjoyment 
was in hoarding and increasing the large 


2 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

fortune which, on her death, would descend 
to her namesake, the heroine of this little 
tale. 

Olive’s great aunt did not approve of 
any form of enjoyment that would make 
this sum a penny 
the less, and, conse- 
quently, Olive had no 
toys and no books. 
Worse than all, she 
had no companions ; 
and under these cir- 
cumstances a little 
girl is not in the way 
of having many good 
times. 

Our little heiress 
lived in a dingy Bos- 
ton street, in a re- 
spectable but very 
ugly part of the city. When she went out, 
the children of Bascom Street used to walk 
behind her and laugh at the heiress’s queer 
clothes; which rude habit was so annoying 
that finally, unless positively obliged to do 
so, she did not go out at all. Who can 
wonder that, leading such a life as this, a 
little girl should look pale and solemn? 



Little Olive , the Heiress. 3 

Her aunt’s manner of living seemed to 
Olive such a mistake, that she deter- 
mined, when she herself was quite old, so 
that it would not sound disrespectful, that 
she would tell her she had made a great 
mistake not to have found out in her youth 
how to enjoy herself. 

But many, many, many years before this 
could be said without disrespect, Great-aunt 
Olive died. 

She had been ailing so many years that 
when this really happened it took every one 
by surprise. 

The little girl supposed, of course, that 
she would go on living with the old servant, 
Matilda Hooker, in the house on Bascom 
Street. Indeed, as far as she could see, 
there was no other possible course; for she 
had no relations near enough to be worth 
mentioning. 

One day, however, — it was the day fol- 
lowing the funeral, — Matilda told her that 
there was a gentleman in the parlor who 
wished to see her. 

After staring at Matilda, Olive began to 
go down the stairs; but it took her a long 
time to reach the last step, for on each 
one she stopped to wonder who this strange 


4 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 


person could be. She could not remember 
ever in her life before receiving a visitor. 

When Olive opened the parlor door, she 
saw a tall gentleman standing, with his hat 
in his hand, in front of the register under 
the mantelpiece. It is no wonder that he 
stood as close to it as he could, for it was 
always cold enough in that parlor to curdle 
one’s blood. 

The tall gentleman seemed to know no 
more what to say to small girls than Olive 
did to tall gentlemen, and they stood look- 
ing at each other in silence for a moment, 
when, fortunately, Olive had an inspiration, 
and said, with a glance at the register: “No 
heat ever comes out of it; so you might as 
well sit down.’’ 

He put his hat on the table, and seated 
himself at one end of the hard hair-cloth 
sofa, while Olive, still wondering what he 
could possibly have to say to her, took the 
other. 

“Ahem!” he began ; “lam Mr. Burbank, 
and I suppose you have heard your aunt 
speak of me.” 

“Well, not very often,” said Olive, who 
had called vainly upon her memory for any 
mention of this gentleman, but feared it 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 5 

would be a breach of politeness to say so. 
“It’s a very pretty name, I think. Were 
you a friend of hers? ” 

“I was her legal adviser, — that is, I had 
charge of her affairs. I suppose, then, you 
do not know that I was appointed your 
guardian? ” 

“I didn’t know I was to have one, but 
I ’m very glad, I ’m sure. Do you begin 
right away ? ” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Burbank, smiling a little; 
“I am going to carry you home with me 
now. ” 

This was a decidedly startling announce- 
ment, and it is not to be wondered at that the 
young person it chiefly concerned uttered a 
cry of astonishment. Mr. Burbank looked at 
her narrowly, and said, in a nervous way, • — 

“I am very sorry, but it can’t be helped; 
so try and make the best of it.” 

“Oh, yes, I will,” said Olive, earnestly; 
“perhaps I shall like it. Of course I shall 
like it,” she hastily corrected herself; “you 
needn’t worry about that.” For a little 
girl who had no experience of visitors, she 
was behaving very well indeed. 

Mr. Burbank evidently thought so, for his 
brow cleared as he said, — 


6 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

“I am sure you are a good little girl, and 
will not be troublesome.” Then he began 
to button up his overcoat, and told Olive 
to go and get ready, for it was time to 
start. 

“Now? and shall I have to leave all my 
things?” asked the child, anxiously. 

“ I told the servant to pack them up, and 
they will be sent for to-morrow,” he said. 
“Now hurry, child, for I really can’t wait 
any longer.” 

It was late in the afternoon when Mr. 
Burbank had first come, and the short 
winter day was now over. Olive looked out 
into the darkness, and then rather wistfully 
into the eyes of this stranger, who, it ap- 
peared, was to whisk her away with him 
into the night. But she rose obediently, 
and went up all those stairs to her room, 
where Matilda was busy packing her scanty 
possessions into a small black trunk. 

“It’s very sudden, isn’t it, Matilda? 
Are you going, too ? Have you a guardian ? ” 
“ Heaven save us ! ” said the woman ; “ I 
wish I had ! ” 

“Then it ’s a pleasant thing,” said Olive, 
looking rather relieved. “Well, I suppose 
I must go. I wish I could see you some- 


Little Oiive, the Heiress. 7 

times, Matilda. It would seem very home- 
like, I think.” 

The woman had never been fond of Olive, 
having looked upon all children as useless 
enemies to order, and order was the idol of 
Matilda’s heart; but the forlornness of the 
little girl’s position, and the uncomplaining 
way she accepted it, forced her to say: — 

“You are a brave one, Miss Olive. I 
hope you ’ll be a lot happier than her that ’s 
gone ever was ! ” and then she held out her 
hard, knobby hand for Olive to shake, and 
with a sober face watched the small figure 
as it descended into the lower hall, where 
Mr. Burbank was impatiently waiting. 

He opened the front door, and as the 
little girl passed out of it for the last time, 
Matilda sighed. 

“ He is a hard-featured man, but I hope 
he ’ll be good to her,” she said to herself. 

Mr. Burbank lived in a fine old-fashioned 
house, in a fine old-fashioned street. It 
was, in fact, in the pleasantest part of 
Mount Vernon Street, and it stood some 
distance back from the sidewalk, — which is 
especially respectable in Mount Vernon 
Street, land there being ever so many 
dollars a foot. 


8 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 


Besides being respectable, this was also 
very pleasant, especially in summer, when 
the grass was green and the shrubs in 
flower. Now the little enclosure was heaped 
with snow; but as Olive walked along the 
brick walk that led to the house, she con- 
trasted it very favorably with the grim dwell- 
ing on Bascom Street. 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 


9 


PART II. 

O LIVE was sitting at one side of the 
fireplace, and her guardian at the 
other. Dinner, which had been a silent 
and solemn meal, was just over, and the 
prospect of the evening in this chilling at- 
mosphere would have been very appalling 
to any other child; but Olive was accli- 
mated, as one may say, to these ungenial 
climates, having always lived with solemn 
and silent persons. She thought her guar- 
dian a very agreeable man, having no one 
to compare him to in her mind but Dr. 
Pierson, her aunt’s physician, who was said 
to be the crossest being in Boston. 

Mr. Burbank was rather a large man, and 
he had piercing dark eyes, which frightened 
some people very much. His voice was 
rather harsh, and he had a quick way of 
speaking which made one feel that he was 
much pressed for time, and if he were to be 
answered at all, it must be at once. 

Olive, having stared at him silently for 


io Little Olive, the Heiress . 

some moments, gave a little cough to attract 
attention, and said, — 

“Mr. Burbank, do you ever have good 
times? ” 

“ Good times, child ! ” he repeated. “ Bless 
my stars ! Good times ! What do you mean, 
Miss Olive?” 

“Oh, well, no matter; perhaps you don’t 
have them. I thought very likely you 
didn’t. If you had said yes, I should have 
asked you to tell me the way to have them; 
that’s all. Never mind; some time I shall 
find out for myself.” 

Olive said this with decision; but it was 
evident that Mr. Burbank was not listening, 
for he broke out : — 

“Do I have good times? No, child; I am 
too busy — far too busy — to think of such, 
things. I don’t believe I know how to 
have them.” 

Olive had intended to ask for his assist- 
ance in the search; but upon hearing how 
valuable his time was, she at once gave up 
the idea, and said generously: — 

“Well, as I am not busy at all, I think 
I should be the one to find out. When 
I have, I shall tell you, and we will be 
very happy.” 


Little Olive, the Heiress. 1 1 

There was another long pause, in which 
Mr. Burbank, with a profoundly wise and 
thoughtful air, sat looking into the fire; 
and Olive, supposing he was pondering 
some deep subject, forbore to question him. 
At the end of half an hour he suddenly 
looked at her again, and said : — 

“Do I have good times, eh? My dear 
child, I had almost forgotten that anybody 
ever cared for them. But never mind, Miss 
Olive, you shall go to boarding-school at 
once, and you will quickly find the way to 
enjoy yourself.” 

“I don’t think I should care to go to 
school ; I have never been, you know. I 
think, if you don’t mind, I would rather stay 
here. ” 

“Stay with an old gentleman like me? 
Nonsense, child; nonsense! What could 
you do here?” 

“Why, I’ll be the lady of the house,” 
answered Olive, in her grave way. and 
speaking as one might of a buttonhook or 
an umbrella. “It’s a good plan to have 
one, I think.” 

“Miss Olive,” said Mr. Burbank, impres- 
sively, “ I suppose you know you are an 
heiress ? When you are eighteen, and come 


1 2 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

into possession of your money, you will be 
enormously rich. Without overstepping the 
mark, I may safely say that you will have 
millions. ” 

“ Shall I?” said Olive. “Well, I wish I 
could have five cents now; I want to try a 
’speriment. It ’s about having a good time*, 
you know.” 

Mr. Burbank put his hand in his pocket, 
but not finding any change there, reflected 
that children have no need of money. 

“What I was going to say,” he resumed, 
“was that such vast wealth ought not to fall 
into the hands of an ignorant person; and, 
as your guardian — in short, my dear, you 
really must make up your mind to go to 
school. ” 

Olive thought of the rude children on 
Bascom Street and shuddered. She was a 
very docile little girl, and would not for 
a moment have thought of rebelling at any 
decision her guardian might come to. But 
she could not help hoping that her going to 
boarding-school would be postponed for a 
long while, and in the mean time that she 
could go on trying to find out the way to 
enjoy one’s self. 

So she dropped the subject, and quietly 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 13 

watched Mr. Burbank as he spread out his 
newspaper, and glanced over its contents. 
While doing so, his thoughts were really 
occupied with the very subject upon which 
Olive was thinking; for he was assuring 
himself that at the beginning of the next 
term (which would be in a couple of weeks), 
the child should go to a certain boarding- 
school that had been recommended to him. 
The delay for which poor Olive hoped 
would have seemed very unwise to Mr. 
Burbank, for he realized that she would 
necessarily be much neglected in his home, 
where — he having no family — there was 
no one to take charge of her. To be sure, 
there was Hannah, his housekeeper, but she 
was too old to assume any new cares, so 
that he was very glad that in so short a 
time she would be safely at school. 

Olive, who had sat quiet for some mo- 
ments, now seeing her guardian fold up his 
paper, gave another little cough, and said : — 
“Mr. Burbank, what shall I call you? 
You haven’t told me that yet.” 

“Whatever you please, my dear,” he an- 
swered. “ It makes no difference to me.” 

“Oh, thank you! I think it will be some 
pet name, then, for I never had a chance to 


14 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

call any one by anything but their regular 
name. My great-aunt thought it was silly, 
and would not allow it. I think I will call 
you,” the child went on, with her head 



“ DOVEY.” 


on one side, and looking critically at her 
guardian, — “yes, I think I will call you 
Dovey . ” 

“ Do, my dear, if you think it ’s appropri- 
ate,” and he laughed. He imagined the 
consternation of Stevens, his old clerk at 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 15 

the office, if Miss Olive were to happen in 
some fine day and inquire for him by this 
name. There was a mirror on the wall 
opposite to him, and as he caught a glimpse 
of the burly head, sharp eyes, and square 
jaw reflected there, he laughed again. 

“ I am glad you like it so much,” said 
Olive, with a pleased smile; “it’s very 
appropriate and affectionate. I like names 
that sound affectionate, don’t you? ” 

When bedtime came, Mr. Burbank rang 
for his housekeeper, whom he told to take 
Miss Olive to her room, and see that she 
was made comfortable. 

If Mr. Burbank had tried, he could easily 
have remembered Hannah as a rosy -cheeked 
lass, years and years ago, when his mother 
had first taken her into her service. She 
had grown old in that house on Mount 
Vernon Street, and considered it an especial 
privilege to dwell therein, always speaking 
pityingly of the rest of the world as “them 
that ’s outside.’’ 

Hannah differed from Matilda Hooker in 
many ways, Olive discovered, and parti- 
cularly in her feeling for children, which 
was one of especial delight. 

She was, therefore, very kind to Olive; 


1 6 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

and when, after helping her undress, she 
went downstairs to the servants, she declared 



that it was a shame for a child that was a 
born heiress to wear such clothes as her own 
niece, Ellen Barney, would be ashamed to 
be seen in. 


L ittle Olive , the Heiress. 1 7 


PART III 



LIVE had one acquaintance in the 


V_y world who thoroughly understood that 
magic art which she herself so longed to 
acquire, — this was Marmaduke, Sir Hugh 
De Lancey, who had named himself after 
his favorite heroes of the story papers, not 
having any name of his own, as far as he 
knew, as an obstacle. 

“When I was a little chap, they always 
called me Bony,” he once told Olive. 
“There was a big bug once by that name, 
but it wasn’t after him, but was on account 
of me being so scraggy; and I thought, 
while I was a-choosin’ one, and it didn’t 
cost no more, I ’d get something real hand- 
some and high-soundin’.” 

Olive saw him very often of a morning, 
when her aunt sent her out for a newspaper, 
for Mr. De Lancey was a newspaper-seller 
by profession. The first time she had ever 
seen him, he was engaged in what seemed 
to be a very fierce battle with another 
boy, somewhat larger than himself, but who 


1 8 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

was eventually put to rout by Marmaduke’s 
vigorous fists. As he slunk off, and Olive 
was buying her newspaper of the victor, she 
could not help inquiring the cause of the 
contest. 

“He called my sister red-headed. — the 
villain ! but I punched his ugly head for 
him, an’ I reckon he’ll be more civil in 
future,” was the answer. 

“Dear me!” said little Olive* “ I should 
think your sister would rather be called 
red-headed, than have you put to so much 
trouble.” 

“Poh! it ain’t no trouble to me; and, 
besides, I ain’t got no sister. I fought just 
for the principle of the thing;” and Marma- 
duke strode away, loudly crying his news- 
papers. 

It is very unfortunate that Mr. De 
Lancey’s language was not more refined. 
It was, in truth, so peculiar that many 
words are left out altogether, and others so 
changed that he himself would not recog- 
nize them. As for the rest, let it stand as 
it is, or out from this story poor Marmaduke 
must go, leaving it in a very sad plight. 

It was this young person whom Olive was 
in search of that next morning, as she came 


Little Olive, the Heiress . 19 

out of her guardian’s house and walked so 
briskly down Park and into Tremont Street. 

It was a cold December morning, the 
streets blocked with snow, which blew in 
one’s face on windy corners, and lay in wide, 
unbroken masses on either side of the plank 
walks on the Common. 

Notwithstanding the boisterous weather, 
the city wore a holiday air, as well it might, 
Christmas being but three weeks away. 
The fragrance of the Christmas trees and 
evergreens lingered about certain corners 
where they were on sale, while the shop 
windows were all made as pretty as possible 
with wonderful decorations, and the wares 
displayed to tempt the gay shoppers, who 
were passing back and forth laden with 
attractive-looking parcels. 

“ I should like to buy something for 
Dovey,” thought Olive, wishing he had 
found the five cents he had looked for in his 
pocket. “ This is one of the ways to have 
a good time, but it ’s like all the others, and 
can’t be done without money.” 

She stood still in the middle of the side- 
walk to watch two little girls who were 
walking behind a pretty lady s whom Olive 
thought was their mother. They were gig- 


20 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

gling over a small package which one of 
them held behind her muff. 

“She never saw me when I bought it,” 
Olive heard the little girl say; “she was so 
interested in that basket for auntie.” 

“ I saw her looking at those pretty 
lockets, and I think she means to get one 
for each of us,” said the other little girl. 

As they passed on it seemed to Olive that 
she had been allowed to read just one page 
from an interesting book. How provoking 
that she could not read the next one ! But 
the three were now almost out of sight, and 
the other people were grumbling because 
she stood stock still in every one’s way, 
right in the middle of the pavement. 

Olive’s mind was so pleasantly occupied 
that even then she would not have stirred, 
if some one had not seized her arm, and by 
main force pulled her along, at the same 
time saying, in the crossest little thin 
voice : — 

“ What in the world are you doin’, standin’ 
here like a post? Don’t you see that the 
folks are all mad at you ? ” 

It was the lame girl who had buttons to 
sell. Her little pale face was so cross that 
no one in the world but Olive would have 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 21 

stopped to answer her; but Olive was used 
to cross faces. 

“ I was thinking how nice Christmas is, 
and what a nice time the people are having. 
Don’t you like it? ” 

“ Like it ! no. Why should I like it ? I 
never once saw one of them trees all fixed 
up with the lights and things.” 

“Well,” said Olive, “that seems a pity. 
There are some little girls that see them 
every single year, and some that never see 
them at all. Is n’t it queer? ” 

“No; it ain’t queer. Only them that 
lives in the big houses, and has rich fathers, 
see ’em. The rest of us can’t see ’em, 
’cause we haven’t the tin.” 

“The tin?” repeated Olive. 

“Yes, money,” snapped the button-girl. 
“You cant’ see anything without you have 
the money. I should think you might know 
that.” 

“ If I had the money,” said Olive, thought- 
fully, “ I would have a tree this Christmas, 
and invite to it every little girl in Boston 
that has never seen one.” 

“Well, as long as you haven’t,” inter- 
rupted the child, looking sharply at Olive’s 
ragged coat, “it ’s no use talkin’ about it.” 


22 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

Olive walked on, feeling very sorry for 
the little cross lame girl. She thought if 
she were lame and poor, and had to sell 
buttons for a living, she, too, would be 
cross. And then, she had never even seen 
a Christmas tree! To be sure, Olive herself 
had never seen one ; but perhaps it was for 
that very reason she had so much sympathy 
for the button-girl, knowing so well what 
her feelings must be. 

She thought about it so intently that 
again she stood still, and blocked up the 
sidewalk, until some one pushed her aside, 
saying that such stupid children ought not 
to be allowed by themselves in the street. 

It was a very shabby little figure, to be 
sure, and no one for an instant would have 
dreamed that she was in reality an heiress. 
People jostled her out of the way in a man- 
ner that enabled her to enter right into 
the feelings of button-girls and other raga- 
muffins. She wore an old black straw hat, 
which was so much too big for her that her 
face went up into the crown of it, — or the 
crown came down over her face, as you 
please, — leaving only the end of her nose 
and her chin visible. As for her coat, it 
was just as shabby as the hat, and just as 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 23 

unlike the apparel of heiresses. She had 
no feathers, and no fur trimming, and no 
muff; and she had never had such things. 
But, on the other hand, she had always 
been warm, — although it was never too 
warm in that house in Bascom Street, — and 
she had never starved, and she considered 
herself very fortunate. And the more she 
thought of the cross lame button-girl, — 
for so Olive called her in her mind, — the 
less she thought of Marmaduke; and the 
child finally went home, having forgotten 
that she had come out to find him. 

When her guardian asked her in the 
evening if she had made any discoveries in 
the art of enjoyment, Olive was obliged to 
confess that she had not even tried. She 
felt sure he was much disappointed, and, for 
his sake as well as her own, set out the 
following morning to make a beginning. 

Owing to the distracting influence of the 
button-girl, Olive crossed the Common this 
time to avoid her, and, strangely enough, 
as she came out upon West Street, the first 
being she saw was Marmaduke. 

“Hello, sis!” he cried, on seeing Olive; 
“how do you happen down here? ” 

“ I came to look for you,” answered Olive, 


24 Little Olive , the Heiress , 

who had a habit of coming directly to the 
point. “I want you to tell me the way to 
have a good time.” 

“Well,” said Marmaduke, “ why don’t you 
go in there,” pointing to the door of a con- 
fectioner’s, “and call for ice-creams for 
two? I’m ready.” 

Olive stared at him a moment with her 
solemn gray eyes, and then said, “ I ought 
to have told you, without any money.” 

“Yes, it makes considerable difference.’’ 
Consid'able diff'runce , Marmaduke pro- 
nounced it. “Well, then, you might stand 
outside and fancy how good it would taste.” 

“Oh, is that really a way? Why, I knew 
of that myself!” exclaimed Olive, in some 
surprise. “You are so clever, though, I 
thought you could tell me of something 
different from that.” 

She was so serious that Marmaduke, 
being a good-natured boy, tried to help her. 
For inspiration he scratched his head and 
whistled. 

“ If I have nothing better to do, some- 
times I stand on the outside of the theatre, 
and make game of the folks that go in. It 
makes the dudes awful mad. Of course 
you have to have a crony along. ” 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 


25 


“ A crony? ” 

“Yes; a friend, you know.” 

“ Dovey is all the crony I have, and he is 
too busy. Can’t you think of some other 
way? ” 

“ Well, if you can make friends with the 
doorkeeper at the shows, they will let you 
slip in free. That ’s fun, but it can’t be 
did very often.” 

Olive shook her head sadly. “I don’t 
think I could do it at all, being a girl. 
Perhaps there is n’t any way. I really think 
there isn’t, unless, you know, you have 
some money.” 

Marmaduke looked down with a good deal 
of pity upon Olive. “ ’T is hard on yer, 
bein’ a girl; but why don’t yer make some 
money ? ” 

“Why, I never thought of that,” cried 
the little girl. “I didn’t suppose I could.” 

“There ’s a girl I know makes her livin’ 
a-sellin’ papers; but she is a sharp one, and 
different from you.” 

“Perhaps I can be a sharp one, too,” 
suggested Olive. 

But Marmaduke thought this very doubt- 
ful, and said so. “You ain’t the right sort 
at all,” he said discouragingly. “The rest 


26 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 


of ’em would hustle you off in no time, 
when the papers are given out. But see 
here, now! if you like, I ’ll get some for 
you, and you can see how you come out.” 

“Oh, thank you! ” burst out the delighted 
and grateful Olive. “ I think you are lovely, 
to help me. When can I begin ? ” 

“Well, to-morrer. I can’t mind yer to- 
night; but to-morrer, if you meet me down 
there by the newspaper offices at four 
o’clock, I ’ll have some papers for yer. At 
four o’clock sharp! Now see you don’t keep 
me waitin’, for this is biz.” 

“Yes, it’s biz,” Olive repeated gravely, 
in her innocent little voice. “It’s biz, and 
I'll be sure and come promptly.” 

So she bade Marmaduke good-by, and 
walked home, passing by the corner where 
the button-girl stood. 

“If I make a great deal of money,” she 
said thoughtfully to herself, as she caught 
sight of the poor little figure with its crutch, 
and face blue with the cold, and just as 
cross as ever, “ it would be a pity to spend 
it all on a good time. I think I would 
rather have a Christmas tree for the button- 
girl.” 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 


27 


PART IV. 

T HE next morning, before going to his 
office, Mr. Burbank had an interview 
with his housekeeper. 

“Hannah,” he said, “I want you to see 
about Miss Olive’s clothes; they don’t seem 
to be good enough to take to boarding- 
school.” 

“No, Mr. Thomas, indeed they are not,” 
answered Hannah, glibly. “I am sure they 
would give any lady principal a turn.” 

“There is no reason why she should not 
have everything that is necessary,” Mr. 
Burbank said. “Attend to it at once, for 
she is to go at the beginning of the next 
term, which will be directly after the holi- 
days. If I have not given you money 
enough, you can have more.” 

As soon as the front door closed behind 
him, Hannah counted over the bank-bills 
placed in her hand, and declared to herself 
that Olive should have as pretty an outfit as 
any child in Boston. 


28 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 

Preparations for it were immediately be- 
gun, and it was fortunate that Olive had 
no business engagement for that afternoon, 
for Hannah took her out on a shopping 
expedition, which lasted many hours. In- 
deed, when Mr. Burbank came home at six 
o’clock, they had but just returned; and as 
he looked into the parlor, he beheld Miss 
Olive there admiring her purchases. 

P"or a moment he hardly recognized the 
small figure, in its stylish fur-trimmed coat, 
and big hat with ostrich feathers, which 
imparted to it such an unfamiliar and fash- 
ionable air. The little girl was looking 
over her shoulder at her image in the glass, 
and he heard her say, in a reflective tone, — 

“I declare, I look like a regular dude! ” 

It was in this same very stylish hat and 
coat that she started, the following afternoon, 
for the rendezvous ; for once she would have 
preferred to wear the old ones, but these 
Hannah had already joyfully disposed of. 

It is not strange that Marmaduke did not 
instantly recognize this elegant little per- 
sonage as his old friend, and Olive stood 
within a yard of him at the very time he 
was saying: — 

“Jest like a girl to keep a feller waitin’ ! 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 


29 



“ I declare, I look like a regular dude ! ” 







30 L it tie Olives the Heiress . 

Never can make ’em understan’ howval’able 
yer time is ! ” 

Marmaduke addressed this remark to a 
small youngster, who also carried newspapers 
under his arm, and whom he afterward in- 
troduced as his brother-in-law. 

When Marmaduke recognized Olive, he 
gave a whistle of astonishment. 

“ Here are your papers, but I never ex- 
pected no such rig as this,” he said, touch- 
ing the new coat. “ I dunno but you ’ve had 
a fortune left yer, and yer don’t want to 
make no money.” 

“Oh, yes, I do,” said little Olive. 

“Well, mebbe it will take with the 
swells. Yer never can count on swells.” 

He gave a dozen newspapers to Olive, 
who tucked them under her arm, and the 
three children walked on, while Marmaduke 
gave her instructions, with an occasional 
suggestion from Brother-in-law. When they 
reached Winter Street he pushed her for- 
ward, saying, — 

“Now go ahead, an’ call out yer papers! ” 

Olive was not quite prepared for this; 
however, as her friend would no doubt say, 
business is business, and she walked off a 
few paces, with her chin in the air, crying 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 31 

in her soft, clear voice, just as loud as she 
could : — 

“‘Evening Transcript!’ Four o’clock 
perdition ! ” 

“Do look at that lovely little girl selling 
newspapers ! ” exclaimed one lady to an- 
other. “I am going to buy one of her,” — 
which she immediately proceeded to do, 
although she had just passed, unnoticed, 
the two boys. 

Then two young gentlemen, of the kind 
that Marmaduke called dudes, hailed her, 
and each bought one. The next customer 
was a very nice old man, who patted her 
cheek, and wouldn’t wait for his change. 
In short, before she had finished the route 
that had been laid down for her, every news- 
paper was sold. 

“You have done first-rate,” was Marma- 
duke’s comment when Olive returned to 
him, giving him back the price he had paid 
for her papers, proudly reserving the pen- 
nies which she had earned for herself. 

“I’ll git yer more papers next time.” 
Then he ran for a horse-car, leaving her to 
the company of Brother-in-law. 

“I ’ll tell you he is a perfect dabster at 
trade, Duke is,” said this youth, looking 
with an admiring eye after his friend. 


32 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

“Is he?” said Olive; “and are you one, 
too ? ” 

“Well, not near so good as he is; but 
then, I ’m new to the business. I ’m most 
as green as you are,” was the uncompli- 
mentary reply. 

Olive made a great many discoveries 
about Brother-in-law that day. To begin 
with, his name was Jimmy Slade; he was 
a sharp-faced, slender little chap, looking 
much younger than his actual age, which 
was really the same as Marmaduke’s. In 
speaking he was often interrupted by a 
cough, which racked his thin frame, so that 
Olive could not help saying it was a bad 
night for one with such a cold to be out. 

“Lor’! it ain’t a cold!” replied Jimmy; 
“it’s a reg’lar thing. This business is 
hard on it, you see, and that ’s what makes 
me so mad at losing the job I had before. 
It was in a lawyer’s office; but the gov’nor 
was a dreadful old duffer, — turned me off 
for nothing but going out to see the 
procession.” 

“Dovey is a lawyer,” said Olive. “I 
wish you could be in his office, for he is 
lovely.” 

“ Well, this old feller was no dovey , I can 
tell you. After he turned me off I was a 


33 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 

long time looking for another job,” went on 
Jimmy. “My sister, she is in a box factory, 
and gets four dollars a week; and she and 
my mother, and my sister that don’t work 
in the box factory, and I, all had to live 
on it.” 

“Dear me!” said the little heiress, try- 
ing to look very sympathetic, but privately 
thinking that four dollars a week was a very 
large sum of money, and that it ought to 
support a great many people. 

“ Thanksgiving,” went on Brother-in-law, 
“we didn’t have any dinner at all; but I 
hope, now I have another job, that we can 
have a good one for Christmas.” 

“Oh,” cried Olive, her big gray eyes 
bigger than ever at the thought of this 
hungry-looking little fellow absolutely din- 
nerless on such a day of feasting, “ I hope 
you will. What would you have, if you 
could call for just what you like?” 

“ I would have tiirkey ! ” — and no italics 
the printer has can convey the feeling of 
poor Jimmy Slade’s tone. “I would have 
turkey , and all the fixin’s. I went to a din- 
ner they had once for street-boys. My ! 
wasn’t it a good one, though! I would 
have just such a dinner as that.” 

3 


34 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

% 

“One of them charity dinners,” chimed 
in Marmaduke, who now joined them again. 
“ I ’ve been to ’em, and they are good 
enough, only yer can’t enjoy yerself on 
account of the swells a-hangin’ round.” 

“Jest such a dinner, with the swells left 
out,— that’s about my size,” said Jimmy 
Slade. 

It was growing dark, and Olive now 
turned homeward. After taking off her hat 
and coat, she sat down with the pennies in 
her hand, and fell into a brown study. 

In the evening, when Mr. Burbank, 
having finished reading his newspaper, 
turned to Olive, — he turned toward her 
because, at this point in the evening, she 
generally had something to say, — the little 
girl broke out, — 

“Dovey, what ’s the price of turkeys? ” 

“The price of turkeys? Well, it depends 
upon whether they are fat ones or thin 
ones, old or young, and various other con- 
ditions.” 

“Say a middling fat one and a middling 
young one? ” Olive inquired briskly. 

But instead of answering, Mr. Burbank 
drew the child on his knee, and said : — 

“ My dear, you are a very queer little 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 35 

girl ! Why do you wish to know the price 
of turkeys? Are you thinking of buying 
one? ” 

He spoke in jest, and was quite surprised 
when she answered seriously, — 

“Well, yes; I was thinking about it.” 

Upon further questioning, it appeared 
that not only was she thinking of buying 
a turkey, but a whole dinner. 

“Don’t you have dinners enough, child,” 
asked her guardian, “without buying extra 
ones? I didn’t know that your appetite 
was so ravenous.” 

“Why, it’s not for me. I have so many 
dinners now that I’m ashamed to think of 
them when I pass hungry-looking little boys 
and girls in the streets. This one I meant 
for some children I know; they are — well, 
they are friends of mine,” Olive hastily 
added, in answer to her guardian’s ques- 
tioning glance. “ Of course I was only 
just thinking about it. I could n’t really 
and truly give a dinner.” 

Mr. Burbank hesitated a moment, and 
then, stroking the little girl’s brown locks, 
he said pleasantly : — • 

“ There is no reason in the world why you 
should n’t give a dinner, if you wish to. I 


36 Little Olive, the Heiress. 

shall be pleased to have your friends dine 
with us any day you may choose.” 

“ What ! here , in yoar house ? ” cried Olive. 
“And can they come on Christmas? ” 

“Certainly, my dear; why not? Christ- 
mas will be a very good day. You must 
tell Hannah, however, just how many per- 
sons to prepare for.” 

“And can I have just whom I please? 
O Dovey ! ” 

Mr. Burbank nodded assent. He leaned 
back in his chair, and, notwithstanding her 
excitement at the moment, Olive could not 
help noticing how much happier he looked 
than on that first evening she had passed 
with him. 

“ And so you are very particular to have 
turkey,” he said, smiling; “and what else?” 

“Fixings,” answered Olive, promptly. 

Together they planned the dinner, Mr. 
Burbank apparently taking pleasure in 
selecting such dishes as he thought would 
appeal to a child’s appetite. When every 
detail had been arranged, he jokingly in- 
quired if she wished her invitations to be 
printed. 

“No, Dovey; they don’t care for that sort 
of lingo,” said Olive. 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 37 

“Lingo! My dear child,” exclaimed her 
guardian, “ what a word ! ” 

“Dear me! is it slang?” asked innocent 
Olive. “I knew jingo was slang, but I 
did n’t know there was anything wrong 
about lingo” 

“I can’t imagine where you pick up such 
expressions,” said Mr. Burbank, anxiously. “ I 
hope you don’t hear the servants use them. ” 

“No,” answered Olive, blushing. “I 
think perhaps I pick them up from a friend 
of mine.” 

“Is it some one your great-aunt, Miss 
Dawson, knew? It can’t be a very refined 
person. ” 

“I don’t think Marmaduke is exactly 
refined” his friend admitted, “but I am 
sure he is very good and kind.” 

“ Marmaduke ! Dear, dear ! what a name ! 
Marmaduke what?” 

“Marmaduke De Lancey,” said Olive, 
cheerfully. No one, she thought, could fail 
to be impressed by that name. “He is in 
trade, and a perfect dabster at it,” the little 
girl went on, unconsciously quoting Brother- 
in-law. “ I know you will like him, because 
he is just like you, Dovey, — very fond of 
biz.” 


38 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

Olive’s guardian shook his head sadly, as 
he repeated her last words. 

“Why,” inquired Olive, regarding him 
gravely, “is that slang, too? ” 

“It’s an expression which Mrs. Lorenzo 
Cobb, I am afraid, would not approve of,” 
said Mr. Burbank. “ She is represented to 
me as a person of great refinement.” 

Mrs. Lorenzo Cobb was the principal of 
the school that had been selected as the one 
to which Olive should go, and for a moment 
the little girl looked very serious. 

“Well,” she said, “it seems to me that 
a person who isn’t quite so refined would 
do well enough for me. I ’m not particular 
at all.” 

“ My dear child ! ” exclaimed Mr. Burbank. 

“Oh! which word was it? ” asked Olive. 
“Don’t you think, Dovey, it is very hard to 
remember what is slang and what isn’t? I 
think I had better make out a list of slang 
words and learn it by heart, so as to be sure 
never to use them. ” 

“ I was only surprised that you should be 
satisfied with any teacher short of the best,” 
he hastened to explain. “A little girl in 
your position — an heir to millions — should 
certainly have every advahtage.” 


L zttle Olive , the Heiress. 39 

“Yes,” Olive assented slowly. “Heirs and 
heiresses are always refined, are n’t they? ” 
Mr. Burbank made no reply to this ques- 
tion, but continued: — 

“You are a good child, Olive, a very 
good child; but you ought not to be left so 
much to yourself. For your sake, I am 
glad that I am to keep you here so short 
a time.” 

Mr. Burbank ended his sentence with a 
sigh, for he had already begun to regret the 
necessity of parting with his bright little 
companion. 


40 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 


PART V. 

LIVE had brought with her, from her 



old home in Bascom Street, a large 
leather purse, which it now became her 
chief ambition to fill. When one considers 
that she had to sell many newspapers to 
earn a few cents, it is not surprising that in 
the week that had passed this had not been 
accomplished. Still, when, as very often 
happened, it was turned upside down, there 
was quite a pile of coins on the table 
beneath it. 

This money was to be devoted to the pur- 
chase of a Christmas tree, — a purpose of 
which Marmaduke and Jimmy Slade, to 
whom the secret had been confided, cordially 
approved. 

Marmaduke had instantly accepted Olive’s 
invitation to the Christmas dinner, but 
Jimmy declared that he would not come at 
all unless his sister, who worked in the box 
factory, was included in the invitation. 
Olive, feeling very glad that she had not yet 


Little Olive , the Heiress, 41 

given Hannah the number of her guests, 
immediately invited the sister that did, and 
also the sister that did not, work in the box 
factory; but the latter, it seemed, was an 
invalid, confined to her bed, and only the 
elder Miss Slade would be able to be 
present. 

Jimmy himself was far from well; he 
seemed to grow thinner each day, and Kis 
cough was so bad that on very damp days 
he could not go out at all, and his earnings 
were hardly more than Olive’s. 

The little girl’s route was along the more 
quiet streets of the city, where she now had 
a regular class of customers. Among these 
was a certain young lady, to whom Olive 
had lost her heart. Every afternoon this 
young lady used to come tripping down the 
stone steps of a certain house, with a charm- 
ing smile for this odd little news-girl, and 
often the two held a friendly conversation 
on the sidewalk. 

Olive discovered that her name was Miss 
Marion Wentworth, and the fine house 
where she lived was not her own home, but 
that she was a companion to the rich old 
lady that owned it. She took it into her 
little head that this rich old lady was not 


42 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 


kind to pretty Miss Marion, and one day 
the old creature came to the window and 
scowled at them in such a cross and captious 
way as to confirm this suspicion. 

One afternoon, contrary to the usual 
custom, Olive met Miss Marion at some 
distance from the old lady’s house. She 
seemed to be anxiously awaiting her, and 
the little girl was sure there were tears in 
her pretty brown eyes as she unfolded her 
newspaper, and, as if in search of some- 
thing in particular, looked up and down the 
long columns. 

“Another disappointment,” she said, half 
aloud ; and as she folded her newspaper 
again very sadly, her eyes fell upon Olive. 

“Why, are you still here, little one?” 
she said kindly. 

“ Well,” explained Olive, “I didn’t like 
to go, you seemed to feel so badly. I do 
hope the old lady hasn’t been crosser than 
usual to-day.” 

Miss Marion laughed; then she sighed a 
little, and said : — 

“ I hope I may never have to pass another 
day like this one; but there is no chance of 
ever getting away. I am looking for a 
position as governess; to have the care of a' 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 43 

sweet little girl like you is what would 
please me best,” she concluded, with a kind 
glance at Olive. 

Perhaps you think it odd that Miss Marion 
should confide her troubles to a news-girl ; 
but if you had been shut up with a cross old 
woman for your only companion for days 
and weeks, you might have, been just as in- 
discreet, especially if the news-girl were 
looking at you with such a sympathetic 
little face as Olive’s. 

After this little episode, Olive amused her 
guardian by a sudden interest in the news- 
papers, over which she daily spent a great 
deal of time. 

One day he laughingly asked whether she 
was interested in politics, or the state of the 
stock market. 

“Oh,” answered Olive, looking soberly 
at him over the top of the “Morning 
Herald,” “I skip such things. I’m only 
reading the advertisements. I ’m looking 
to see if any one wants a governess.” 

“Do you mean to apply for the posi- 
tion?” was the laughing inquiry. 

“ Of course not ! I am looking for a friend 
of mine, — the loveliest young lady!” Olive 
hastened to explain. “ She lives now with 


44 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 


a cross old lady who makes her cry; but she 
wishes to be a governess, and I am looking 
in the paper to see if somebody is not 
advertising for one. While she is waiting, 
I wish she had some place to stay beside 
the cross old lady’s house.” 

Mr. Burbank easily guessed the thought 
in Olive’s mind, even before she added, — 

“ Dovey, there are three vacant rooms 
upstairs.” 

“So there are!” he said. “We really 
might take some boarders. I don’t know 
but it would be a good plan. Were you 
thinking of that ? ” 

“No; I am sure I would not like to keep 
a boarding-house,” said Olive, with the air 
of a person who had viewed the subject in 
every possible light. “ I heard two board- 
ing-house keepers talking in the market, one 
morning when I went there with Hannah, 
and they said it was the most aggravating 
business in the world.” 

“Then we will give up that idea,” said 
Mr. Burbank. “After all, it might inter- 
fere with our researches.” 

“Oh, you mean our finding out how to 
have good times!” Olive could not help 
blushing to think how little effort she had 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 45 

made in this direction. The truth is, her 
head was so full of the Christmas tree for 
the button-girl and her other friends, that 
she hardly ever thought of the old problem ; 
and yet, all this while, without realizing 
it, she had been enjoying herself very 
much. 

Mr. Burbank knew very well that Olive 
would like to put one of his three vacant 
rooms at the disposal of Miss Marion; but 
he liked to have his house to himself, and 
believed that the presence of a young lady 
would disturb him. 

As for Olive herself, although at first her 
advent into his home had certainly annoyed 
him, he had now become reconciled to it. 
The thought had even occurred to him that 
she had enlivened the sober old house, and 
that when she was at school, and he came 
home from his office at night, he would 
sorely miss the pretty face in the window, 
that was now always watching for him. 
Pretty face! Well, that was the very adjec- 
tive that he used; and, indeed, the child 
was growing rounder and rosier each day. 
Her cheeks had a delicious pink tint, which 
the fresh air gave them; her eyes were soft 
and happy, and she had the gentlest, pretti- 


4 6 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

est smile imaginable. So that he was not 
so far wrong. 

Sometimes, as they sat by the fire, the 
little girl would tell him of sad incidents 
she had seen in the streets; of little chil- 
dren who suffered, with no one to help 
them; and Olive’s voice would seem to 
tremble with tears, which, although they 
never broke through, so appealed to Mr. 
Burbank’s heart that he would say: — 

“Dear, dear! that’s very sad indeed! 
very sad ! One should try and relieve such 
suffering.” And Olive would brighten up, 
thinking that help for these unfortunates 
was near; but, to her disappointment, so 
far nothing had ever come of it. 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 


47 


PART VI. 

TT was Christmas Eve, and Olive’s prep- 
arations for the coming festival were 
completed. The tree had arrived that after- 
noon, much to the amusement of Mr. Bur- 
bank, who had said she was very independ- 
ent to provide one for herself, and inquired 
if she also intended to buy her own presents. 

Olive might truthfully have replied that 
she had already done so; for, having pur- 
chased the tree and a few candles, she had 
then impartially divided the contents of the 
leather purse among her friends, that they 
might share in the pleasures of a true Christ- 
mas, — for the pleasure of giving seemed to 
her the greatest of all. 

The consequence of this had been a great 
excitement, with many secret consultations 
and important confidences. P'or the first 
time in their lives, Marmaduke and Jimmy, 
his sister of the box factory, the lame cross 
button-girl, and little Olive herself, had 
joined the merry Christmas shoppers. Jr 


48 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

the gifts were small, the pleasure of making 
them was very great. 

There they were — these precious pack- 
ages — on the library table, whither Olive 
had brought them at the request of her 
guardian; for Olive was not ‘to dress the 
tree herself, this being no part of her plan, 
which was to be dazzled, with the other chil- 
dren, when the doors were flung open, and 
she should for the first time see a Christmas 
tree. This feeling she explained to her 
guardian, and he told her that, although 
dressing Christmas trees was not much in 
his line, he thought that with Hannah’s 
assistance he could accomplish it. 

As he turned over the packages, odd 
superscriptions met his eye. For instance, 
on one knobby bundle was inscribed, in 
scrawling letters, — 

“For my respected brother-in-law, from 
Mr. Marmaduke Sir Hugh De Lancey. ” 

On another was written- — 

“Dear Dovey, — Please accept this triffle 
from your loving Olive.” 

The “triffle” proved to be an extraordi- 
nary pincushion, which he long valued as 
the work of his patient little ward. 

The tree was carried into the back parlor, 


Lilile Olive , the Heiress . 49 

from which room Olive was willingly ban- 
ished. It was a very small tree, not so tall 
by many inches as Olive herself; but Mr. 
Burbank promised to put it up on a table, 
and make it show to the best advantage, 
and she danced off to bed with a heart as 
light as if it had measured three times her 
height, and was to be adorned with the 
costliest presents. 

Christmas dawned that year as bright as 
if there were not a child in Christendom 
who would have no tree. But Olive could 
not forget these unfortunates. 

“It’s very queer,” she remarked to her 
guardian at the breakfast-table — “it ’s very 
queer that the people who can have the big 
Christmas trees don’t divide with those that 
have none at all, and make things even. 
Don’t you think so, Dovey?” 

“I think you are a rampant socialist, my 
dear,” was the laughing reply; but Olive, 
of course, did not understand the meaning 
of this, and went on : “ If I were rich — ” 

“Rich! bless me, you are rich!” inter- 
rupted her guardian. 

“Yes,” assented Olive, politely, “but I 
didn’t mean my kind of rich. If I were 
rich with lots of money to spend, I would 


50 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

have a tree as tall as this house, and invite 
to it all the children that are getting left 
this year.” 

“Poor, poor Mrs. Lorenzo Cobb!” ex- 
claimed Mr. Burbank; and then, with a 
queer smile, suddenly asked, — 

“Olive, my dear, does your paragon, 
Miss Marion, approve of slang?” 

“No,” the little girl answered thought- 
fully, “I don’t think she does. Slang isn’t 
refined, and Miss Marion would not like 
anything that ’s not refined.” But she won- 
dered a little at the question, and was quite 
surprised that he remembered Miss Marion 
at all. 

After breakfast, they went into the li- 
brary, where Olive began to look over the 
advertisements in the newspapers, and her 
guardian paced the floor. She thought she 
had never seen him so restless and impa- 
tient. He kept rushing out into the hall, 
and then coming back and looking at her, 
rubbing his hands together and laughing. 

“It makes you awfully uneasy not to go 
to the office,” she at length remarked; but 
he had again hurried out into the hall. 
This time he did not at once return, but 
seemed to be talking to some one there; 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 5 1 

and she thought she heard some heavy 
object being carried upstairs. Then the 
parlor door was closed, and finally her guar- 
dian reappeared, with an unusually smiling 
countenance. 

“Olive,” he said, “I have a - Christmas 
present for you in the parlor. Come and 
see it.” 

“Oh, why don’t you hang it on the 
tree?” cried Olive. 

But this only made Mr. Burbank smile 
the more. He led the little girl into the 
hall, and, opening the parlor door, Olive 
saw the figure of a young lady, which, as it 
turned and held out its hands to her, she 
saw was Miss Marion. 

“Oh, Dovey!” she cried, with her arms 
around her friend, “it’s a lovely Christmas 
present ! How did you ever come to think 
of it ? Is she going to stay all day? ” 

“ She has come to occupy one of those 
vacant rooms you are so troubled about,” 
Mr. Burbank answered, looking at them 
with the air of a beneficent fairy. “ She is 
going to save you the trouble of reading the 
newspapers in future. ” 

“ Oh, then she has left the cross old lady 
for good ? ” 


52 


L it tie Olive , the Heiress. 


“She has left her for you. I am sure you 
are good enough,” was the answer; which 
was such a flattering one that Olive took it 
as a joke, and did not realize what had 
happened. 

When they went upstairs, Miss Marion 
explained to her that Mr. Burbank had 
called at the old lady’s house to see her one 
day, and, after some conversation, had en- 
gaged her as a governess for his ward. This 
was the first and the best of Olive’s pres- 
ents that day. 

All the morning Olive was in a flutter of 
pleasant excitement; for was she not to have 
four guests to dine with her, — four besides 
Miss Marion? With the instinct of true 
hospitality, she dressed herself in her plain- 
est frock, feeling that her fine clothes would 
only make those of her guests seem more 
mean. Then, determined that for once in 
his life poor Jimmy Slade should know what 
it is to be warm, she poked the fire into a 
splendid blaze, and before it wheeled the 
most comfortable of arm-chairs for the 
cross lame button-girl. 

Dinner was to be earlier that day than 
usual, and it was still light when Olive’s 
guests walked down Mount Vernon Street, 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 53 

reading the numbers of the houses as they 
passed along. 

“ My gracious ! ” cried Marmaduke, look- 
ing up and down the front of Mr. Burbank’s 
fine dwelling. “This is the number, an’ 
she lives in there, and she sells newspapers! 
My gracious ! ” 

“I ain’t a-goin’ in,” snapped the cross 
button girl, stopping by the iron gate. 
“They’ll turn you right out; you see if 
they don’t. I know ’em.” 

“We was invited, anyhow,” said Marma- 
duke. 

“I don’t believe her folks know anything 
about it,” broke in Jimmy Slade, shivering 
in the cold blast that blew up from the 
river. “Come, let’s go back.” 

“She ain’t got no folks, ’cept the one she 
calls Dovey, — some old granny or other. 
We was invited, an’ I ’m goin’ in. There’s 
to be turkey! so come on.” 

The poor little things, lured by that 
magic word, screwed up their courage, and 
filed in along the brick walk. 

It so happened that just at that moment 
Mr. Burbank chanced to be standing by the 
window, and as his eye fell upon the chil- 
dren, he burst out, in anything but a pleased 
tone, — 


54 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

“ Bless my stars ! What do all these raga^ 
muffins want ? ” 

“Oh,” said Olive, calmly, “they are not 
ragamuffins; they have come to dinner.” 

“Coming here to dinner!” gasped Mr. 
Burbank. “ Who invited them ? ” 

“I invited them,” answered Olive, cheer- 
fully. “You told me I might.” 

“Nonsense, child! I told you to invite 
your friends. I certainly did n’t mean these 
street Arabs Don’t you see, Olive, how 
absurd it would be to ask them to sit down 
to a gentleman’s table ? ” 

But Olive could only see that they were 
cold and hungry, and that she had the 
means of warming and feeding them. 

“Oh, Dovey, Dovey!” pleaded the child, 
with her face buried in his breast, “ don't 
turn them away! it will break my heart if 
you do. It is Christmas Day, and I thought 
we could make them so happy ! ” 

“Well, well! Hannah shall take them 
into the kitchen, and give them their dinner 
there,” he said, smoothing her sunbrown 
curls. “ How will that do? Charity is all 
very well, but you carry it too far, my 
dear. ” 

“Charity! Oh,” burst out little Olive, 
“it isn’t charity at all; they are all my 


Little Olive , the Heiress. 55 

friends . It wouldn’t be anything to have 
their dinner in the kitchen, like the beggars. 

I have invited them to dine with me,” 

There was now a timid ring of the bell ; 
evidently the children had but just mustered 
courage for this final step. The sound 
seemed to fill Olive with a gentle determi- 
nation. 

“ If they eat their dinner in the kitchen, 
I must eat mine there, too. And, Dovey, 
dear, you will let us have turkey and — and 
fixin’s!” She started for the hall, but her 
guardian’s voice detained her. 

“Olive,” he said, “I cannot think of your 
eating your dinner in the kitchen. Miss 
Marion, you are her governess; what am I 
to do with this strange child ? ” 

“What can you do better than to let her 
follow the impulse of her own innocent and 
generous heart ? It is Christmas Day. 
Oh, let the children come in,” implored 
Miss Marion. 

“ Two against one, — of course I am 
beaten,” he murmured. “Olive, go and 
ask your friends in.” 

So in they came: Marmaduke Sir Hugh 
De Lancey, his Brother-in-law, the sister 
who worked in the box factory, and the 


56 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

cross lame button-girl, happy Olive’s as- 
tonished guests, — two ladies and two gen- 
tlemen, and just in time for dinner. 

Mr. Burbank gave his arm to Miss 
Marion, and they all flocked out into the 
warm, well-lighted dining-room. Such a 
scene as it was I feel safe in saying was not 
presented that day in any other dining-room 
on Mount Vernon Street. 

Olive arranged her guests around the 
table, if not in obedience to rules of eti- 
quette, according to the promptings of a 
loving heart. Marmaduke was placed upon 
Mr. Burbank’s right hand, the little girl 
reflecting that business would furnish them 
with subjects for conversation. The cross 
lame button-girl sat beside Miss Marion, to 
whose simple courtesies she soon melted. 
And Olive’s own place was between Jimmy 
and Jenny Slade. So the feasting and the 
fun began. 

Such a dinner as it was! Brother-in-law 
forgot to cough, and the button-girl to 
scowl; and, if you will believe it, Mr. 
Burbank himself was the life of the occa- 
sion. He was now determined that the 
evening should pass off as pleasantly as his 
little ward had so innocently planned, and 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 5 7 

he talked and joked with each child in so 
friendly a spirit that it was finally agreed 
among them that Olive’s Dovey was a most 
agreeable gentleman. 

He was so successful that the following 
day, when Marmaduke was asked by a fel- 
low-craftsman why he was not at the news- 
boys’ dinner, he scornfully derided charity 
entertainments, and jauntily added that he 
himself was dining with friends on Mount 
Vernon Street. 

After dinner the walls of that respectable 
mansion rang with the shouts of Olive’s 
guests, who were entertained with games 
until the event of the evening came off, 
which, of course, was the tree. 

As the folding doors flew back, revealing 
the splendor of the inner room, Olive gave 
a cry of surprise. By the side of the chil- 
dren’s tree, which now appeared the veriest 
bush, rose a beautiful, stately fir, so shining 
with lights and sparkling with tinsel and 
silver and gold that it almost took one’s 
breath away. There were even tears in the 
eyes of the cross button-girl, who was heard 
to murmur softly, — 

“ Now, when Christmas comes, I can 
always think of this ’ere.” 


58 Little Olive , the Heiress. 

But for many, many Christmas nights she 
was invited to just such a splendid tree, 
until the famous Christmas of the year that 
Olive came into the possession of her 
money, when, no longer a cross lame but- 
ton-girl, but a useful and happy young 
woman, she helped dress one for the benefit 
of as many poor children as could be gath- 
ered together in Olive’s own spacious 
home. 

But to return to this particular tree. 
Upon its fruitful branches, besides many 
pretty toys and bonbons and generous 
horns of plenty, there was a small package 
for each child containing a sum of money, 
which Olive shrewdly suspected was a blessed 
afterthought of her guardian. 

During the festivities that followed, Mr. 
Burbank and Jimmy Slade had an interview 
apart. It resulted in a business arrange- 
ment between the two, as her guardian 
explained to his curious ward, and in 
the boy’s giving up the newspaper business 
to return to his former much-regretted 
“job.” 

And now the candles hid burnt out, and 
the guests, with many lingering looks at 
the generous tree, had taken leave. 


Little Olive , the Heiress . 59 

The three that remained stood for a mo- 
ment with grateful hearts under its fragrant 
branches. 

“It has been a lovely evening,” said 
Olive, at length. “Everybody was so 
happy! Dovey, are you not glad that you 
let the children come in?” 

“Well, well, child, it has done us no 
harm, and there is no doubt the Arabs 
enjoyed themselves.” 

He bent down and kissed her glowing 
little face, and his voice was of a quite 
unusual gentleness as he added: — 

“ My dear, you have surely discovered the 
secret of enjoyment; and if, in future, my 
help is needed to further your ‘good times,’ 
I shall not grudge it. In Miss Marion, 
also, if I am not mistaken, you will find a 
faithful ally.” 

Thus was formed a society which in time 
became known through its work among the 
poor children of the great city. Few, how- 
ever, are aware that its founder was a hum- 
ble little girl, who only tried in her simple, 
friendly fashion to make four other children 
happy, with no idea of charity in her inno- 
cent little heart. 

It is still called The Good Time Society, 


60 Little Olive , the Heiress . 

— a name of Olive’s choosing; and quite 
fitting it is, for in its work the helpers find 
a pleasure as great as is given the little 
ones whose dull lives they do so much 
to brighten. 


THE END. 

















OCT 7 1899 

































































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